


CONTROLLED - Story 2 of the Soul Magic Series

by chrmisha



Series: Soul Magic [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonding, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Magic Made Them Do It, Slash, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-08-02
Packaged: 2018-12-06 05:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11593617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrmisha/pseuds/chrmisha
Summary: In the aftermath of a lust curse, Harry Potter and Severus Snape must work together to control the unintended side effects. How will they manage it?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Starts during 6th year and continues onward.
> 
> I do not own Harry Potter. All credit goes to JK Rowling.

When Monday morning arrived, Harry Potter was tense and nervous. He still shuddered occasionally at the mention of the Potion Master’s name, but he’d become better at suppressing it. Still, he had double potions before lunch and he couldn’t imagine Snape being anything but livid with him.

On the Friday previous, Draco Malfoy had cursed Harry with a Lust Compulsion Curse tied to Severus Snape. Harry had proceeded to all but assault the older man in his lust-addled state seeking completion with the wizard in any way he could get it. His cheeks burned at the memory and he bent his head, pretending to focus on the breakfast food on his plate.

To make matters worse, the only way to break the curse Malfoy had used was to meet it demands, which meant having sex with his teacher. Which they’d done. Twice. And bloody hell if it hadn’t been gloriously wonderful, at least for Harry. That may have been the curse talking, but then something else had happened.

When they’d broken the curse, they had triggered some other sort of magical link. Snape had assured him it wasn’t a curse, but rather a joining and mixing of their magic. Either way, it  _felt_ like a curse. Harry was drawn to Snape in a way that should have repulsed him. And more than that, he could feel if Snape was injured, and he could heal the man. Plus, their magic had combined, and now both were ten times as powerful as they had been. But the link demanded payment, as Snape had called it, and the longer they denied their attraction to each other, the worse it was to resist.

The headmaster, who knew about the curse, suggested a way to bind their magical link, to keep it from disturbing them and allow them to lead their normal lives until such a time as it was needed. Albus Dumbledore suggested that time would likely come during the war, when their lives were threatened, or when Harry need additional power to defeat Voldemort.

And so they had gone ahead and used the spell Dumbledore had given them to hobble their magical link, to make it manageable. It had been trying and exhausting, but they’d done it. And for a few moments, Harry had felt triumphant. He could look at Snape, say his name, touch him even, all without jumping his bones and demanding sex, something Harry had  _never_ done before he’d been cursed by Malfoy.

That triumph had been short lived, though, when the Headmaster suggested they each practice the releasing spell. Which meant that all the yearning and desire would snap back, like a stretched rubber band, and would be even harder to fight. And while Harry wouldn’t mind another tumble in Snape’s bed, it was clear that there was nothing Snape wanted less.

Harry felt for the wizard. Snape had been thrown into this without any choice of his own. After being cursed, Harry had haltingly and embarrassingly made his way to Snape’s office, where he proceeded to throw himself at the man and get off on Snape’s leg. Harry groaned and dropped his head into his hands.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Hermione asked.

“Headache,” Harry muttered, mortified by the memory. He hadn’t been in control of himself then; the curse had taken over. But he didn’t imagine the results would be much different this evening when he released the binding spell. And attacking Snape again, humiliating himself again, was something he’d rather avoid.

Being a hormonal teenager, Harry had less control over his responses, as Snape well knew. He didn’t doubt Snape would taunt him for his weakness. And he didn’t even want to think about how cruel and vindictive Snape would be during potions. Maybe he could beg off and go to the hospital wing to treat his ‘headache’. He knew Snape would never let him off that easily though.

When Harry entered the Potions classroom, the first thing he noticed was the Malfoy was absent. He hadn’t been at breakfast either. Had he been expelled? If that was the case, he thought he’d have heard about it. Still, he wondered what sort of punishment Malfoy had gotten for cursing both him  _and_ Snape. Finally, Snape entered the classroom, looking much the same as he always did—dour, stern, and sneering. That, at least, had not changed, Harry thought to himself, a slight blush creeping into his cheeks.

And instead of brewing potions, they were each given five vials of different potions that they were to work in groups to identify. Harry breathed a sigh of relief that the spotlight wouldn’t be entirely on him and his potion brewing skills, or lack thereof. He, Ron, and Hermione spent a mostly pleasant double period working through the steps to identify the potions—a calming draught, a strengthening solution, a cheering mixture, a sleeping solution, and, most peculiarly, a hormone balancing suspension, which only Hermione had been able to identify.

Harry looked up and met Snape’s gaze, met a knowing regard and a smirk. Harrry felt his face flush once again and looked away. To steady himself, he reached out to grip the table, accidentally knocking one of the vials to the floor, where is shattered, splashing his shoes with vibrant orange potion.

“Potter!” Snape said it like it was a curse. “Clumsy and disrespectful as always. Breaking school property and wasting good potions. Ten points from Gryffindor and detention this evening.”

Harry ground his teeth. He knew Snape would find a way to give him detention this evening to justify his presence as they practiced releasing and reinstating the binding spell. Still, Snape’s criticisms stung. Harry avoided making eye contact with Snape after that, focusing instead on cleaning up the spilled potion and putting away his school things.

* * *

Harry arrived outside Snape’s office at 5:40pm. He didn’t think he’d ever been that early for a detention. Perhaps because he knew this  _wasn’t_  going to be a detention. Sighing, and unwilling to look too closely at his motivations, he paced the deserted corridor, rehearsing the words and wand motions of the unbinding spell in his mind. He wasn’t quite sure what would happen when he released the bindings that dampened their bond, but he had a fairly good idea. The thought made him blush, something he’d done quite a lot of lately he realized. And even more disturbing was the fact that he wasn’t all that repulsed by the idea. He grinned like an idiot for a moment before schooling his features and chastising himself to concentrate.

Dumbledore had suggested that they be separate when one or the other cast the unbinding spell, as presumably they’d be separate at some point in the future when they would need to do so. Harry assumed that he’d do the casting in Snape’s office while Snape waited in his quarters. And then what would happen? Pushing those thoughts from his mind, Harry concentrated on practicing. He whispered the words of the spell, and moved his wand slightly, doing only a vague interpretation of the movements he’d need to do later that evening.

To his utter shock, Harry felt a wave of energy slam into him, nearly blasting him off his feet. He stumbled backward, falling hard against the cold stone wall of the dungeon corridor. He glanced around, stunned and winded. Heat raced across his skin and his body felt restless.  _What the hell?_

Just then, Snape’s office door slammed open, the heavy wooden door bouncing off the stone wall. Snape stood where the door had been, naked save for a towel wrapped around his waist. Menace radiated from every line of his dripping wet body, his eyes aflame with anger and something that looked a lot like hunger.

Harry stared, wide-eyed and mouth open. He thought he should say something but his mouth had gone bone dry.

With a speed that belied the man’s age, Snape reached out, grabbed Harry by the arm, and threw Harry in the direction of his office. Harry stumbled inside, backing away from Snape, until he found his back pressed up against an interior door. He glanced up to see a clock on the wall. The time read 5:45 pm. Harry swallowed, realizing that he must have pulled the man from his shower. A shower that would have been finished if Harry hadn’t arrived so early.

Snape stalked him, his gaze never wavering from Harry’s as he warded and locked the office door behind him.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Harry rasped. He felt trapped and cornered. Snape was bearing down on him. “I didn’t mean to release the spell. I was just practi…”

Snape’s body slammed against his, hard lips crushing into his, and Harry gasped. A tongue delved inside his mouth and Harry whimpered, his own tongue responding with eager abandon. Harry threaded his hands into Snape’s wet hair, pulling him closer.

“You are a fool,” Snape hissed, dragging his mouth from Harry, but not stepping back. Snape had his head turned to the side, his breathing ragged.

“Sir?” Harry asked. “Professor Snape?”

Harry whimpered in realization as need swamped him. He clutched at Snape’s robes, thrusting mindlessly against him as he kissed the pale column of the man’s neck. “Fuck,” he whispered. He’d forgotten how saying Snape’s name incited the bond.

“Fuck indeed, Potter,” Snape muttered, meeting Harry’s kisses as he pressed Harry harder into the door.

Harry felt Snape’s hand slide behind him, but he didn’t pay much attention until he felt himself free-falling backwards. He uttered a startled shout, and then Snape caught him around the waist, dragging him upward, and walking him backward, lips still fastened tightly to Harry’s mouth.

Harry moaned at the exquisite feeling of being plundered by the older wizard’s tongue. He vaguely recognized the sound of Snape locking and warding his private quarters as Snape maneuvered him to the bedroom.

Harry felt the back of his legs come into contact with something hard, and then he was falling again, landing shortly on a soft mattress. He scrambled back, centering himself on the bed, his arms and legs opening to Snape’s form crawling over him.

“Yessss,” Harry cried. “Oh Merlin, YES,” Harry moaned as Snape crushed his lips to him once more.

“I hate this, Potter,” Snape said, the erection pushing into Harry’s belly belying the man’s words.

“Mmmm,” Harry moaned, “I don’t. You feel amazing.”

“Shut up, Potter! This isn’t  _real_!” Snape said, panting, as he thrust against Harry’s stomach.

“Isn’t it?” Harry said. “It feels pretty real to me,” he commented, pushing his own erection against Snape’s thigh.

Snape grunted and rolled off Harry, his towel falling away.

Harry gaped. Snape’s cock jutted out from a pile of black curls and Harry’s mouth watered at the sight. Harry scrambled down Snape’s body and sucked that glorious cock into his mouth.

“Potter!” Snape shouted, his hands grasping Harry by the hair.

But then Snape was moaning, and guiding Harry’s mouth up and down his cock, and Harry smiled. He slid a hand between Snape’s legs, caressing Snape’s balls, causing the man to buck beneath him.

“Mmmmm,” Harry hummed against Snape’s hot hard flesh and Snape bucked harder, grunting and groaning in a way that had Harry humping the mattress in need.

Suddenly, Snape’s hands were on Harry’s hips, pulling Harry’s lower body toward him.

Harry paused momentarily in his ministrations, unsure of what Snape was doing.

Snape jerked his pelvis in complaint, and Harry resumed sucking him.

The next thing he knew, he was on top of Snape, his knees on either side of Snape’s head, and a hot, wet tongue was probing his opening.

Harry gasped, bucked, mewled. He took Snape’s cock deeper in his throat, spurred on by the pleasure that was Snape’s tongue fucking him. Then one of Snape’s hands wrapped around Harry’s cock, and Harry was lost, moaning and thrusting into Snape’s fist, against his tongue, all the while sucking Snape in harder and deeper and faster.

Suddenly, Snape squeezed Harry’s cock, hard, and cried out, thrusting once, twice, three times into Harry’s mouth. Salty hot liquid shot against the back of Harry’s throat and Harry hummed in appreciation, swallowing, sucking, and swallowing some more. His own pleasure temporarily forgotten, Harry coaxed every last bit of pleasure from Snape, sucking, licking, and soothing as Snape groaned and fell limp beneath him. Releasing his softening erection, Harry kissed along Snape’s thighs, his nuts, his softening cock. He rubbed his face in the damp mass of curls, inhaling Snape’s scent. He licked a soft, gentle trail up Snape’s sated member, causing the other man to shudder and moan once more.

Harry laid his cheek on the soft skin beside Snape’s hip, trying to catch his own breath. Harry’s cock jerked of its own accord. In the next instant, Snape’s hand began to stroke Harry once more. Harry groaned and pushed into Snape’s long, talented fingers. A moment later, Snape’s tongue returned to the fray, thrusting at Harry’s entrance. Then, a slick finger slid inside of him, followed by another. Harry grunted and bucked, enthralled by the sensations.

“Snape,” he cried out. “Merlin’s balls, Snape,” Harry whimpered. “Ah gods, yes, Yes!”

Harry felt Snape’s tongue push in deeper, along with those nimble fingers, wiggling, probing. “Don’t stop… Merlin, please don’t stop,” Harry begged, bucking his hips into Snape’s touch. The hand that stroked him moved faster, meeting Harry’s every thrust.

“Snape… oh… please…”

And then the tips of Snape’s fingers brushed against his prostate.

“Yes, YES, uh Uh UH… YES!!” Harry shouted, his world exploding in sparks of gold and white as his orgasm crashed through him, juttering out of him in waves of pleasure, coating them both with hot sticky fluid.

“Fuck me…” Harry breathed, coming down off his high.

“I believe I just did, Potter,” Snape’s voice sounded with a chuckle.

Exhausted but sated, Harry rolled off Snape, turned himself around, and collapsed against Snape, burrowing his head in Snape’s neck, and arm and leg throw over the man.

“Fuck,” Harry repeated, breathing hard. “That was amazing.”

Snape said nothing, and for a while, Harry was too spent to care.

When his breathing had finally evened out and some measure of strength had returned to his limbs, Harry pushed himself up to look at the man who had just loved him so thoroughly.

“Snape?” Harry asked, suddenly unsure. Snape was staring at the ceiling, unmoving, his gaze distant. “Are you ok?”

When the man didn’t respond, Harry pushed himself off of Snape and put a gentle hand to the man’s cheek in an effort to pull Snape’s face toward him.

“Don’t,” Snape snapped, rolling over and getting out of the bed. “Get dressed,” Snape hissed, grabbing his clothes and heading for the bathroom.

Stunned, Harry sat, listening, as he heard the shower start.

Harry cast a quick cleaning spell on himself before getting dressed. Then he sat on foot of Snape’s bed, wondering what had just happened. Harry was sure that Snape had enjoyed what they’d done. He felt it in the man’s response.  _It isn’t real,_ Snape had said. The man was dead wrong, Harry thought. He could try and deny this all he wanted, but it  _was_ real. And it was also beyond their control. Frustrated, Harry shook his head.

Snape was still his professor, and Harry guessed that as long as that stood between them, Snape would not allow himself to believe anything between them was real. Harry supposed the spy couldn’t afford to. Not when there was so much at stake. Well, he’d just have to prove the man wrong. Harry doubted there was much he could do about it until he was no longer a student. He could try to keep the man safe, though.

Snape stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed, his hair now dry.

“Sir,” Harry said, standing up. As much as Harry wanted to say more, to tell Snape just how wrong he was, Harry knew there’d be no use. The man wouldn’t hear it. Not now. And likely not until well after Harry graduated. If then. Sighing, Harry said, “Shall we rebind our magic?”

Snape nodded and led the way to the sitting room.

Having just met the needs of the bond, there would be no need to fight off unrequited attraction. Wand in his right hand, Harry offered his left hand to Snape, who took it without saying a word. Together they said the incantation, waved their wands, and felt the magic that made up their link dampen and settle into something much more manageable.

Instead of feeling relieved, Harry felt lost, like a piece of him was missing. Turning away, Harry said, “Until tomorrow then, Professor.”

“Potter,” Snape called after him.

Harry turned around, half hoping Snape might relent.

Snape gazed at him without mercy. “You will hate me long before this is said and done.”

Harry shook his head. “Whatever you say, sir.” Then he turned and let himself out without a backwards glance.


	2. Chapter 2

The next night, Harry arrived at 6pm and knocked on Snape’s office door. The door opened and Snape ushered him before locking and warding the door.

“Wait here,” Snape instructed before disappearing into his private quarters.

Harry looked around, studying the jars that decorated the walls with all manner of  creepy and disgusting things. He waited to feel the bound magic being released. After five minutes, he took a seat, not sure what Snape was playing at. He glanced at the clock a few minutes later; 6:10 pm. By 6:20 pm, he took his transfiguration book out of his bag and began to review his notes for the upcoming test.

Half-way through the a section on Animagus, Harry was nearly bowled over by a deluge of power and desire. Without conscious thought, his body lurched forward. He was on his feet, practically running across Snape’s office, heedless of the notes, book bag, and quill that had fallen to the floor in his wake.  Distantly he reflected that it that he was like a witless iron filing being inexorably drawn to an immensely powerful magnet.

He found Snape in a chair in his sitting room, head down, drawing in ragged breaths. Snape’s hands were clawlike, fingers dug into chair arms, as if holding on for dear life. A crystal goblet and a half-empty bottle of gin sat on an end table beside him.

Harry knelt before him and reached out to touch Snape. Some part of his mind knew he shouldn’t, but the pull of the bond was too strong. He couldn’t resist.

“Professor Snape?” Harry asked softly as his hands cupped Snape’s bowed head.

Snape keened as if Harry’s words and touch pained him deeply, and then the next moment, they were kissing frantically, tongues dueling for dominance as Snape whispered in defeat against Harry’s lips: “I tried to fight it.”

“I know,” Harry said. “After tonight, you won’t have to worry about this anymore.”

Snape let out a howl of need and frustration, grasping Harry’s face in his hands. “You have no idea what you are talking about, Potter,” he rasped, pushing the teen away from him.

Harry fell back on his arse, landing hard on one wrist. He cried out in pain.

Then Snape was there, pulling him to his feet, grabbing his injured wrist and pulling it to his lips. The silver light of their magic swirled around them as Snape healed Harry’s sprained wrist and led Harry to his bed.

Feeling emboldened, Harry pushed Snape onto the mattress. He half expected Snape to yell at him, but Snape let himself fall back into the mattress, grunting when Harry landed on top of him.

Harry felt Snape’s erection against his thigh and aligned their bodies so that their clothed erections bumped and rubbed against each other.

“How do people manage this?” Harry gasped between kisses. “How do you live a normal life if all you can do is screw?”

Snape chuckled as he nuzzled and sucked at Harry’s neck. “The intensity of the bond is at its highest immediately after the bond is formed, and after any prolonged absences.”

Snape pulled Harry’s earlobe into his mouth and bit it; Harry shivered.

“The desire is always there,” Snape continued, “but it is not so insistent as all this.” Snape wiggled his hips and Harry cried out, pushing back against Snape.

“Too many clothes,” Harry complained. Harry felt Snape move his arm, and then they were both naked, skin to skin. Harry moaned, sliding his hands down Snape’s back, feeling the muscles tense beneath his touch.

Snape grunted and in next instant, Harry was flipped onto his back and Snape was on top of him.

“Severus…” Harry groaned.

Snape stilled above him and Harry looked up to see a look of utter pain in Snape’s eyes before his gaze shuttered and he looked away. it took Harry a moment to realize he’d called Snape by his first name.

“Oh,” Harry said. “Sorry, I didn’t mean… Oh!” Harry cried as he was flipped onto his stomach. Harry felt hands at his hips, raising his arse into the air, and he didn’t complain. Instead, he buried his face in a pillow, biting at it and whining as Snape position himself between Harry’s legs and licked up his cleft, sliding a slippery finger inside.

“I want you,” Harry said. “Merlin, I want you, Snape.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Snape growled, slapping Harry’s butt cheek.

Harry cried out at the sting, but the next moment, Snape’s tongue was thrusting inside of him and all thoughts and words left him. Then the warmth was gone and only Snape’s fingers remained.

“Are you ready?” Snape asked, his voice harsh and haggered.

“Yes,” Harry replied, trying to keep the note of begging from his voice.

Harry felt Snape’s cock nudge against his opening. Harry raised his hips in welcome, and Snape thrust inside, slick and hot and powerful.

Harry held himself still, waiting for Snape to move, but he didn’t. Instead, Snape held him by the hips and licked a path up Harry’s spine, to the base of Harry’s neck, and over to his shoulder. Snape set his teeth on there and bit down. Harry gasped and bucked, and Snape growled.

Then Snape was pummeling into Harry, hard and fast and so very deep.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, to encourage, to praise, but bit his tongue, holding back the words that Snape didn’t want to hear. Instead, a soft mewling escaped him.

Snape hissed and yanked Harry backwards, settling Harry into a seated position on Snape’s thighs as Snape rammed into him. Harry felt Snape’s pebbled nipples and the coarse hair of the man’s chest rub against his sweaty back.

“Oh… yes…” Harry cried out, unable to stop the words from escaping.

When Snape’s teeth closed on the tendon that ran between neck and shoulder, biting down hard, Harry whined and vowed to keep his damn mouth shut. But the cock thrusting up his arse was so damn delicious that he could barely contain himself. He bit his lip and leaned his head back on Snape’s shoulder, looking up into those bottomless black eyes.

They tried to kiss, but the position was too awkward. Snape pulled his lips away, but not his gaze. He thrust harder into Harry, digging his fingers painfully into Harry’s hips.

“Touch yourself,” Snape commanded.

Harry whimpered and grabbed his throbbing cock with one hand, his other hand still firmly grasping Snape’s thigh.

As he began to stroke himself, Snape’s eyes grew darker and hungrier, if that were possible. Harry bit his lip and fisted himself in earnest. As his pleasure grew, he dropped his back against Snape’s shoulder once more and closed his eyes.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Harry whispered, more to himself than anything else. He started bucking against Snape’s thrust, seeking to add to his pleasure, lost in the moment.

“Yes,” he heard Snape breathed. “Yes, Potter, yes.”

At Snape’s words, Harry let go, thrusting, jerking, crying out. He felt the hot jets of his release spasm from his body.

Snape snarled and jerked his hips frantically, driving into Harry, hard and desperate. Harry held on as Snape pumped into him, shouting out his own release as he crushed Harry to him.

Snape shuddered, his whole body convulsing.

“Harry.”

It was a breathy sound, an exhalation, and Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard it right. Still, he smiled. When he opened his eyes, Snape’s head was bowed, eyes closed. He looked vulnerable, and Harry reflected that he’d never seen the man like that before. Not wanting to push his luck, Harry sat up, feeling Snape slip from his body. Snape dropped his hands.

Harry paused, but only a moment. He knew this was the last time they’d be together, at least this side of the war. He turned to face the wizard, both of them kneeling.

Snape grimaced and held up his hands, opening his mouth to speak.

Harry placed his fingers against Snape’s lips to silence the man, kissed him on the forehead, and then took Snape in his arms.

Snape sniped and struggled against him, but Harry just held him tighter. “Shut up and hug me, Snape.”

“Potter, this isn’t…

“I said,” Harry repeated, talking over Snape, “Shut your mouth and hug me, dammit.”

Snape stilled for a moment, shuddered, and then crushed Harry to him, a sound like a wounded animal escaping from Snape’s throat.

Harry didn’t quite know all the man had sacrificed in his life, but being a spy and pledging to keep Harry safe couldn’t be easy. Harry also knew what it was to make the worst mistake of your life and have to live with that regret for the rest of your days. Harry also knew that this was the last time he’d ever see Severus Snape as vulnerable as he was now.

The next time Snape pushed him away, Harry let him. Snape slid off the bed and fled, and Harry let him go. Shaking his head, Harry got dressed and waited in the sitting room for Snape to join him.

When Snape entered the room, dressed and showered, Harry stood and held out his hand. Snape took it, and once more they cast the binding spell, restraining their joint magic so that each could be their own man, without the hinderance or help of the other.

Harry let go of Snape’s hand first, feeling the buzz of joint magic fade away. He glanced up at Snape and nodded once. “Snape,” he said.

“Potter,” Snape rejoined.

Their gazes locked once more, and then Snape turned away, and Harry took his leave. He knew that from this point forward, they would both act like nothing had happened, like nothing had changed. Harry didn’t quite know how to feel about that.

As he walked back to Gryffindor tower, he reflected upon hate and desire and acceptance, upon vulnerability and need and trust, upon allies and enemies and those caught somewhere in-between. Shaking his head, he let it all go, relegating it to memories best left unspoken.

* * *

Life returned to normal, or as normal as it ever was for Harry Potter. He attended his classes, learned about Tom Riddle’s obsessions at Dumbledore’s side, suspected and followed Malfoy whenever he could, and watched and learned all he could about Severus Snape.

For weeks, Snape seemed no different. He criticized and harassed Harry as he always did. He took points and assigned detentions. He sneered and snarked and behaved like the right git that he was. But in the quiet moments, during potion brewing or in the Great Hall during meals, Harry felt Snape watching him, studying him, assessing him. If Harry caught his gaze during these times, Snape curled his lip and looked away.

Then something changed. Hagrid had let slip that he’d heard Snape and Dumbledore arguing on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. After that, Snape had seemed cowed somehow. He no longer stole glances at Harry when Harry wasn’t looking, he no longer singled Harry out in Potions. In fact, he no longer acknowledged Harry’s existence in any way.

“I’d consider yourself lucky, mate,” Ron had said after Harry shared his observation with his two friends.

Hermione, though, looked more thoughtful. “I wonder what’s happened,” Hermione said. “Snape isn’t acting like himself at all.”

And not for the first time, Harry had wondered just what Snape had meant when he had said: _By the end of this year, Potter, you will hate me more than any man alive._

It wasn’t long before Harry found himself agreeing wholeheartedly, for Snape had killed Dumbledore right before his very eyes, and his hatred for Snape had blossomed beyond anything he could have imagined. There were many things that a man could be forgiven for, but killing Dumbledore was not one of them.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry didn’t question his hatred of Severus Snape. Ron supported him wholeheartedly, while Hermione just looked stricken whenever the subject came up. It wasn’t until Ron had stormed out, and Hermione taken to pulling out the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, that something made him question everything he thought he knew.

“Message from the Headmaster,” Phineas Nigellus drawled one evening.

Momentary shock was soon overridden by anger. “I don’t want to hear anything that murderous traitor has to say!” Harry announced.

Phineas sighed loudly. “Headmaster Snape says that Potter should stop and think with his brain for once, instead of his heart.”

Harry gaped.

“He says that Potter should remember that everyone has a role to play and things are not always as they first appear.”

Hermione stared at Harry, dumbstruck.

“He also says that Potter would be wise to keep his head down and steer clear of Snatchers.”

“Of what?” Harry questioned.

“That is all,” Phineas concluded, and then walked out of the portrait.

Harry sat in the entrance to tent that night, pondering all that had happened between Snape and himself. Had he missed something? Snape’s words of this evening had triggered a memory. When Snape had insisted that Harry would come to hate him, Harry had asked why. Snape had replied: _Because, Potter, you never think. You just act. And when the time comes, you will do the same. You won’t think with your brain, you will feel with your heart. And your heart will come to despise me._

Of course he had come to despise Snape! Snape had killed Dumbledore! There was no denying that. But Snape had reminded him to stop and think. That things weren’t always as they seemed. That they each had a role to play. Harry’s role was to destroy Lord Voldemort. Beyond being a spy for the Order, what was Snape’s role.

_Dumbledore trusted Snape._

How many times had Harry heard those words? And just what was it that Dumbledore trusted Snape to do? Hagrid has overheard Snape saying that Dumbledore took too much for granted, and maybe Snape didn’t want to do it anymore.

_Do what?_ Harry thought. _Spy?_ But that didn’t feel right. _What am I missing?_

It wasn’t long before Hermione joined him in the mouth of the tent, asking him what was wrong.

“Snape’s message,” Harry responded. “There’s something I’m supposed to figure out.”

“Like what?” Hermione asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry lamented. “Who knows what goes through Snape’s head.”

“Well,” Hermione said, “What do we know about Snape?”

“Other than he’s a bastard and a murderer?” Harry asked.

“Yes, other than that,” Hermione said.

“We know he’s a spy,” Harry stated. “And Dumbledore thought he was loyal to the Order. Everyone always said Dumbledore trusted him. But I saw him kill Dumbledore. I was there.”

Hermione sat quietly for a moment. “Snape said that everyone has a role to play and things aren’t always as they seem at first,” Hermione said.

Harry dropped his head into his hands. “And he told me to stop and think. So what am I missing?”

 “Tell me again what happened when Snape killed Dumbledore,” Hermione instructed.

“I’ve told you a hundred times,” Harry complained.

Hermione put her hand on Harry’s knee. “I know, but try. Tell me everything you remember, every little detail.”

Harry sighed. “Draco was supposed to kill Dumbledore, but he couldn’t do it. Then Greyback was going to do it, but one of the Death Eaters cursed him and said it had to be Draco. And they kept telling Draco to do it, but clearly Draco wasn’t up to the job.”

Harry kicked out at a rock on the ground. “Then Severus burst through the door and cast the killing curse at Dumbledore.”

“Just like that?” Hermione asked.

“Well,” Harry said, considering. “He pushed Draco aside and then Dumbledore said his name, and begged Snape not to do it, and then Snape cast the killing curse, and then they all left.”

“What exactly did Snape and Dumbledore say to each other?” Hermione inquired.

Harry thought about it, remembering in as much painful detail as he could. “I don’t think Snape said anything to Dumbledore, actually, aside from casting Avada Kadavra. But Dumbledore, he said, _Severus._ And when Snape didn’t respond, Dumbledore said, _Severus, please._ And then Snape just raised his wand and killed him!” Harry felt his ire rise. “How could he do that, Hermione? Dumbledore _trusted_ him!”

Hermione seemed lost in her own thoughts. “Severus… Severus, please… Please, Severus, please…” she murmured. She repeated the words a few more times, and then looked at Harry with a new spark in her eyes. “You said there were other Death Eaters there, right?”

“Yes, Greyback and the Carrows…”

“And you said that Dumbledore was very ill. You said the Death Eaters said he didn’t look like he was long for this world anyway, correct?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, but…”

“And you said that when you told Dumbledore about Snape and Malfoy’s conversation the night of Slughorn’s party that Dumbledore didn’t seem the least bit surprised, right?”

“Yes, but what’s that got to do with…”

“Don’t you see, Harry? Dumbledore _knew_ what Draco was planning. And so did Snape, obviously. Dumbledore told Snape to spy on Draco, to try and help Draco in order to figure out what Draco was planning. Because, remember, when you and Dumbledore went off to find the horcrux, and Draco brought the Death Eaters into the castle, Snape didn’t know they were there! He didn’t know until Professor Flitwick went and told him.”

“So?” Harry asked.

“So, that night on the tower, Dumbledore already knew that Draco was supposed to kill him. But Draco couldn’t do it. And Dumbledore also _knew_ he was dying. So what if he wasn’t begging Snape to save him, Harry, what if he was begging Snape to do what Draco could not?” Hermione took a deep breath. “What if Dumbledore was begging Snape to kill him?”

The thought staggered Harry. “But why would Dumbledore do that?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione confessed. “Except that he was already dying. And if he was already dying, and he wanted Snape to stay in Lord Voldemort’s good graces, then maybe they’d agreed beforehand to have Snape cast the killing curse instead of Draco.”

“Hagrid said that Snape said that Dumbledore took too much for granted, and that maybe he—Snape—didn’t want to do it anymore,” Harry said, thinking aloud.

“Well,” Hermione reasoned, “if Snape really was loyal to Dumbledore, as Dumbledore believed, I don’t imagine Snape would want to kill him.”

“On the tower,” Harry said, “before he cast the killing curse, he looked like he hated Dumbledore more than anything in the world.”

“Or maybe he hated what Dumbledore was making him do,” Hermione guessed.

“Maybe,” Harry said as his mind spun with possibilities. “What did Snape mean when he said to keep my head down and steer clear of Snatchers?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione said, “but it sounds like he was trying to protect you.” Hermione paused, opened her mouth, closed it again, and then finally spoke. “How many times have we thought Snape was the bad guy and it ended up he was just trying to protect you?”

Harry shook his head. “If Snape was acting on Dumbledore’s orders, why couldn’t Dumbledore have just told me?”

“Maybe he did, Harry. How many times did Dumbledore tell you that he trusted Snape?” Hermione asked rhetorically before adding, “And he told you to trust Snape too.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, although it left a bitter taste in his mouth to do so.

* * *

Harry spent many long nights after that night thinking about Hermione’s theory. He hadn’t heard from Snape again since the night Snape had sent a message through Phineas. But Ron’s return brought with it the knowledge of Snatchers, and Snape’s warning had indeed been meant to protect Harry. And when the three of them had fallen afoul of said Snatchers, Harry knew Snape would have been disappointed in him.

In the end, it came down to the same thing that everything related to Dumbledore came down to: Did he trust Dumbledore or not? For if he did, even with the hurtful knowledge of Dumbledore’s many secrets and failings, then he had to trust Snape. And so it was that he came to believe that Hermione’s version of events was the truth; that Snape had not killed Dumbledore out of hatred, but rather out of duty, or mercy; perhaps both.

 On the night of the final battle, when Harry came upon Snape’s fallen body in the Shrieking Shack, pale and bleeding from Nagini’s attack, he no longer hated the man. He wasn’t sure exactly how he felt about Snape, but he knew the man deserved more _this._

“Take. It.” Snape rasped, grasping at Harry’s robes as silvery blue vapor gushed forth. “Take it,” Snape commanded.

Harry grabbed Hermione’s conjured vial and filled it with Snape’s proffered memories.

“Look at me,” Snape said.

Harry met the man’s gaze and knew Snape was fading fast. He didn’t spare a second thought as he released the binding spell, unleashing a torrent of power as the force of their joint magic slammed into them both. Snape convulsed wildly on the dusty floor, but Harry was ready for it. He steadied himself for the influx and then placed his hands over Snape’s throat, will their link to heal Snape as nothing else could.

Harry watched in awe as the silver mist surrounded his hands and Snape’s ragged neck, stopping the bleeding and closing the wound. Harry met Snape’s eyes and leaned down to place his lips against Snape’s. Snape made a pained sound in the back of his throat as his hands grasped Harry’s sides, touching him, kissing him. Harry gasped, kissing him back frantically, the bond demanding its due.

But both men seemed to know that now was not the time nor the place.

“I have to go,” Harry murmured against Snape’s lips.

“I know,” Snape breathed.

“I have to finish this.”

“I know.”

“Will you be alright?” Harry asked, studying Snape critically. His neck wound was closed and color was returning to his cheeks. But the man’s eyes looked dead.

“I have the antidote,” Snape said, pulling a small vial filled with glowing green fluid from his robes. An image of a coiled snake that resembled Nagini shown on the label.

Harry nodded. “I’ll come back. We can redo the binding spell then. I might need the extra magic for now.”

Harry made to get up but Snape grabbed his wrist.

“Harry, I…” Snape paused, swallowed, tried again. “I’m sorry.”

“All’s forgiven,” Harry said. “Don’t worry. Get better. Take care of yourself. I’ll find you.”

Harry placed one more soft kiss on Snape’s lips, squeezed his shoulder, and left, not realizing the import of Snape’s apology nor understanding the devastation that lie behind the shattered gaze that followed him from the room.

It wasn’t until Harry had seen Snape’s memories that he understood. _I’m sorry too_ , Harry whispered, as he made his way to the Forbidden Forest to sacrifice his life. In some ways, he felt closer to Snape than ever, for how many times had Snape willing risked his life for _The Greater Good._ And now Harry was doing the same.

When the battle was _finally_ over, and he’d explained what he’d need to to Ron and Hermione, he returned to his dorm, showered, and ate. Ron crawled into bed and promptly fell asleep. Harry, on the other hand, donned his invisibility cloak and made his way to the dungeons. He’d promised he’d come back, and he intended to keep that promise.

Stunned, exhausted, and relieved, Harry knocked on the door to Snape’s office. Before he could even process what was happening, Snape had dragged him inside, pushed him against the office door, and kissed him. The kiss wasn’t gentle; it was hard and demanding. It spoke of fear and loss and all the things that Snape could never say.

Mouths still firmly attached, Snape swung his wand in a wide arc, locking and warding his office, walking backwards as he dragged Harry to his private quarters, to his bed. Part of their desperation was the newly freed link demanding payment, but part of it was also the after effects of the battle, of near death and destruction and despair, or relief tainted by grief, of the promise of a future neither dared wish for.

Harry fell willingly onto Snape’s bed and let Snape have his way with him. Harry was too exhausted to participate much, but he certainly had no objections. He gave Snape what he could, returning Snape’s ardent kisses and trailing fingers over Snape’s warm skin. When Snape made love to him, it was with both a new awareness and a new gentleness. It spoke not only of desire and need, but of longing and of hope. Unlike the previous times, when their joining had been solely at the behest of the bond that had been accidentally formed, this joining lacked the sharp, desperate edge. It was no longer tinged with hate and fear and certain loss. In its place came wonder and awe and appreciation mixed with gratitude and mutual trust and respect.

When Snape brought Harry to orgasm, it was like a rebirth. And when Snape came inside of Harry, Snape held on. He didn’t let go, and he didn’t push Harry away. “Harry,” he said, “My Harry.” And he didn’t bat an eye when Harry replied with, “My Severus.” Those were the last words they spoke before Harry fell asleep, wrapped in Severus’s embrace.


End file.
